


Each His Own Truth

by thejabberwock



Series: Dean Winchester Codas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Gen, Guilt, Post-Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 18:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11190417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejabberwock/pseuds/thejabberwock
Summary: He's not a demon anymore, but the guilt still lingers.





	Each His Own Truth

Once he’s reassured Dean isn’t in danger of sporting black eyes again, Sam sees him safely to his room. And stays just long enough to brush aside Dean’s apologies and ask him if he’s hungry before he’s out the door, leaving Dean restless and with his chest tight with guilt.

Cas comes in a few minutes later, but he doesn’t stay either. He offers a lukewarm platitude about the impossibility of driving Sam away. Dean knows differently, although he’s fairly sure Sam has no immediate plans to go anywhere.

He’s too grateful to Cas at the moment to argue with him, to do anything but tell him how glad he is to have him here. Cas gives him one of his small smiles before following in Sam’s footsteps.

Dean stares at the door once Cas closes it behind him, thinking it wouldn’t have killed him to stay a few more minutes.

“Glad you’re here,” he mutters, a bitter echo before turning away. Cas cutting out isn’t exactly a surprise. Even Dean turning demon, and nearly killing Sam, isn’t reason enough for him to stay.

Dean tells himself it doesn’t matter and returns his attention to his room, putting things back into their places. The books strewn across various surfaces, chucking a half-eaten slice of pie. At least the bunker doesn’t have mice.

He finds himself pacing once he has everything straightened up, retrieving his phone and then sliding it back into his pocket when he realises there’s no point in calling Sam. He’ll be back when he gets back.

And he does come back eventually, knocking lightly before pushing in with a bag of food in one hand and a cup of soda in the other. “You okay?” he asks, eyes full of scrutiny as he looks Dean over. Dean wonders what he expects to find.

“Still human,” Dean tells him and gets a minute smile in return. He watches Sam set the drink on the desk before he asks, “You good?” even though Sam has already assured him he is. “You look like shit.”

He’s trying for a light tone, teasing, but Sam’s mouth tightens. “Yeah well, I’ve been trying to find you for months.”

Dean nods, the guilt squeezing his chest again. “I know. I shouldn’t have left like that.”

“Yeah, well, you were a demon. And don’t apologize for trying to kill me again,” Sam says when Dean opens his mouth to do just that. “I’m fine.”

The apology itches beneath Dean’s skin but he gives in to what his little brother wants. He owes him that much. Sam is frowning as he perches on the edge of the desk, the food still clutched in his hand. “How are you really?” he asks seriously.

“I’m good, Sam.” Holds up his hands like that’s going to help at all. “Everything works. No murderous urges.”

“And the Mark…” He trails off, eyes Dean’s forearm. Dean touches the raised lines, but pulls his hand away when he lifts his gaze to find Sam's narrowed gaze. There’s concern there, of course, but there’s also the same wariness that was there even before Dean became a demon. He pulls down his sleeve, sets his fingers over the fabric. “You never did explain how he…”

“He transferred it to me,” Dean says with a shrug. “Grabbed my arm and it was just there.”

“Just like that? Why though?” Sam persists, because he always persists. Always has to know everything.

“Said he felt connected to me.” He shrugs for Sam’s confusion. “And he wants me to kill him.”

The confusion turns to incredulity. “That’s why he gave it to you? So you could kill him?”

“I’m the only one who can.”

Sam is frowning, his fingers denting the bag of food. “And did he tell you this would happen? You becoming a demon?”

“He tried to, I think. Said there would be consequences.”

Sam’s face contorts. “And you didn’t think to  _ask_  what those might be?”

“I fucked up.” _Don't I always?_    

Dean's eyebrows rise and fall, ready for whatever angry words are coming his way. He deserves them. Sam’s breaths are uneven, his jaw working.

“If you hadn’t teamed up with Crowley…” He lets the words fall away and Dean watches the regret shift his face. 

“Sam, don’t.” 

But predictably, Sam does. “I shouldn’t have told you to go.”

“I didn’t need you to tell me anything,” Dean says in a hard tone. “This is not on you. It was my choice.”

“But if I hadn’t—”

“I was the one who left, Sam. Just. Let it go.”

Sam very clearly doesn’t intend to. He looks pissed again.

Sighing, Dean runs a hand down his face. He needs a shower. And probably some of whatever Sam has in the bag at some point. He can’t remember the last time he ate anything. He opens his mouth to tell him to hand over the goods but instead, in deference to Sam’s expression, he sighs, “Whatever you need to say…”

Sam’s frown sharpens, eyebrows tugged together before he asks quietly, “How could you even think… How could you think it would be better if you died?” When Dean doesn’t say anything, he clarifies, “After Metatron stabbed you. I _t’s better this way_?”

Dean’s voice is gruff as he answers, “Yeah, I remember what I said, Sam.”

Sam’s eyebrows fly up, a demand that Dean doesn’t want to answer. His fingers curl into his sleeve.

“Because of the Mark?” Sam asks, eyes following the movement. And it’s easier to let him think that, easier than telling him he was only echoing Sam’s own words when he’d been so angry about Gadreel.

_The truth is you’d do the same for me._

_No, I wouldn’t._

It had hurt like a knife to his chest. More than the blade Metraton killed him with. It had hurt, hearing Sam say it out loud. But it was something he’d always known anyway. Isn’t it what so many people have told him?

_The truth is they don’t need you. Not like you need them._

Everyone knows it.

It’s past time he accepts it too.

“We’ll find a way to get rid of it,” Sam says quietly. Earnest as ever. As though he never said he’d let Dean die. As if he never said they weren’t brothers. Maybe he doesn’t mean it quite as adamantly as he did before.

“Yeah,” Dean grunts. He offers another little smile, the best he’s got right now and gestures with his chin to the bag of greasy food Sam still has in his hands. “That for me?”

Sam passes it over; presses it to Dean’s chest. “Extra grease, he says with a small smile.“Just the way you like it.”

Dean takes the food. “With a complimentary heart attack?”

“I told Cas I wouldn’t complain.”

“About the grease? Or ever again?”

Smiling, Sam rolls his eyes as he picks up the soda and hands that over too.  Dean’s own smile fades once Sam turns away. It’s fine, he tells himself as he follows after, the bag crumpling in his fist. It’s fine. Sam’s fine, Cas is around, if not anywhere close to taking up residence in the bunker anytime soon. He’s not a demon. Crowley’s not bitching in his ear.

Everything’s fine.


End file.
